The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [25]
“You have no clue what this is about, do you?”
“I’m proud to say that everything about you is incomprehensible to me,” Fallon cut back. “Especially all this touching BS. But I’m going along with it. Try and extend me the same courtesy, okay?”
Max stood, face steely, patience abandoned. He leaned his back against the rail of the spiral staircase and held Fallon’s eyes.
“What?” she said.
“Touch me, then.”
“You?”
He nodded, neutral.
“That’s supposed to help?” Her gaze zigzagged over him.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But try it, Little Miss Scientist. Suspend your empirical disbelief for me.”
“If that’s what it takes to keep this project moving forward, fine.” She nodded and took a couple of steps closer, studying his face, his arms, the black hair at the collar of his shirt.
“Fine,” Max agreed, that wicked gleam coming to his eyes. “Fair is fair.”
He peeled his shirt up from the waist, revealing that body so maddeningly adept at making Fallon’s heart skip a beat. Tossing it aside, he reached down and unbuckled his thick belt. Fallon felt her eyes widen, embarrassed but transfixed as he lowered the zipper and eased his jeans down over slim, toned hips. The garment dropped to the floor and Max stepped out, toying with the waistband of his gray boxer briefs, eyes glued to Fallon’s, demanding her answer to an unspoken question.
“No. Stop there.” Even as she said it, her eyes roamed to his arms, his navel, the bulge between his thighs. She stopped breathing for several seconds.
“Go on, then.” His voice was shallow and sharp, a challenge. “Touch me. You can bind my hands if you like.” As if to illustrate this offer, he crossed his wrists and raised them, grasping the iron bars of the staircase behind his head, so disturbingly reminiscent of Fallon’s dreams. A slow smile overtook his lips.
She swallowed and shook her head. “No, thank you.”
He caught her eyes with his. “This isn’t about sex, you know.”
Like hell it wasn’t.
“This is about sensation,” he said. “Connection.”
“Fine,” she muttered, feeling as though she was both winning and losing this strange battle of wills. With a steadying breath, she fanned her fingers and set them on his shoulders. The heat of him shocked her anew. Max kept solemn, eyes following her hands as she grazed his neck then traced the tattoo along his collarbone. Clavicula, read the miniscule label. She ran her palms up and down those powerful biceps. His chest was hard and warm under her palms, and she felt his heart beating fast, giving him away behind his veneer of self-control. She melted into the act as she surveyed his tight abdomen, flesh tensing at her touch. She cupped the crests of his hips, feeling the power there, finding it so very easy to picture these muscles pumping hard, flanked by her own legs.
“Keep going,” he whispered, the rasp in his voice sounding unintentional. “Do you feel what I’m talking about? Do you feel my energy?”
She nodded, awestruck. His entire body was vibrating, imperceptible but nevertheless unmistakable. “I can feel it.”
Fallon’s curious hands explored his ribs and waist, the outsides of his thighs. She blushed, then let herself touch his backside. Hard, like the rest of him. His hips tensed. Behind the soft cotton of his briefs, he was growing for her. Her blush deepened, warming not just her cheeks, but her breasts and belly and down between her legs. Her fingertips flirted with the dark curls that trailed from his navel down, mere centimeters from the rigid curve of his erection.
“You still say this isn’t about sex?” she asked softly.
Max’s mouth quirked to one side.
“Do you want me to keep going?” As her thumb edged along his waistband, she wasn’t sure what answer she was hoping for.
“What do you want?” he asked, breath short.
His body was so close and ready. No man had ever made Fallon feel this way so…violently before. Ever. Not even close.
“Have you proven your point yet?” She feigned contempt, studying his powerful body as haughtily as she could muster.
“Nearly.”
She moved on, palms surveying his chest and shoulders again,