Beautiful Stranger

ready to bolt or break down. But in reality, I was shaking so hard because everything about it had felt right. Max had been on his knees, between my legs, and had refused to let me reciprocate. Instead he kissed me for long minutes, helped me dress, and gave me a look so pregnant with meaning that goose bumps spread across my skin.
    It was one thing to play in a library, but compared to the club last night, that felt tame. And on the way home after, with Max’s hand on my knee and his lips on my neck, my ears, my mouth, and—finally—his body over and inside me, completely wild on the backseat, I realized how crazy my life had become.
    Crazy good.
    Crazy amazing.
    It’d been so long since I’d been infatuated like this that . . . I had forgotten how fun it was.
    “You’re swooning,” George said Thursday morning as I approached his desk. He stuck the end of his pen back between his teeth, murmuring around it. “You’re thinking about your Max.”
    How the hell did he know that? Was I grinning like an idiot? “What?”
    “You like him.”
    I gave up. “I do,” I admitted.
    “I saw how he looked at you when he came in here Monday. He’d let you carry his balls around in your pocket.”
    Grimacing, I opened my office door. “I’d rather they stay where they are, but thanks for the idea.”
    “He was here this morning,” George offered, casually.
    I froze, halfway into my office, waiting.
    “Seemed sad to have missed you, but I told him you’re kind of a bear in the morning before you’ve finished your seventeen cups of coffee and rarely get in before eight.”
    “Thanks,” I grumbled.
    “No problem.” He sat up and pulled an envelope off his desk. “He left this.”
    I took the envelope into my office to read. Max’s handwriting was tiny, scribbly.
    Sara,
    I’m leaving Friday morning for San Francisco for a week for a conference. Might I see you tonight?
    Max.
    Lifting my phone, I swiped my thumb across the screen and pressed his name.
    He answered after only half a ring. “Are you still in bear mode?”
    I laughed. “No. I’m at cup sixteen.”
    “Your assistant is a character. We had quite a lovely chat about you. I’m pleased to know he’s unlikely to be hitting on you while I’m away.”
    “I think he’s more of a Max fanboy, if you want the truth. If you had any inclinations to play for the other team you might never be able to get rid of him.”
    “I heard that!” George called from his desk.
    “Then stop eavesdropping!” I yelled back, and then smiled into the phone. “And yes, I’m free tonight.”
    “Where?”
    I hesitated only a beat before offering, “My place?”
    The line went quiet.
    I heard the smile in Max’s voice when he finally growled, “For a bed?”
    “Yeah.” My hands were shaking. Hell, everything had changed last night. The idea of being with Max in a bed felt like the wildest adventure yet. I almost wondered if we would survive it.
    “Meet you there at eight? I have a late call with the west coast.”
    “Perfect.”

    I changed my outfit three times before eight—casual? sexy? casual? sexy?—before finally changing back into the outfit I’d worn to work. I straightened my bed, dusted my entire apartment, and brushed my teeth twice. I had no idea what I was doing and was pretty sure I hadn’t been this nervous on the night I’d actually lost my virginity.
    I was still shaking when he knocked at my door. He’d never seen my place, but when he walked in, he barely looked around. His hands went to my face, and he pushed me back against the wall, mouth firm on mine, opening, sucking on my lips and tongue. There was nothing gentle about the way he kissed me. It was hard and desperate, hands gripping shoulders and pulling ineffectually at clothes that just seemed to be in the way, lips that almost felt bruised with how real it all was. He had a messenger bag slung across his chest and it slid forward, hitting the wall with a heavy thump.
    “I’m losing my fucking mind,” he said into my mouth. “Losing my fucking brain, Sara. Where’s your bedroom?”
    I walked backward, pulling him and his wild kisses down the short hall with me. I only had my bedside lamp on, and it cast a small cone of warm yellow light around the space. White walls, big bed, giant windows—all within a minuscule floor plan.
    He laughed, looking around and letting his hands drop from my face. “Your flat is tiny.”
    “I know.”
    Slipping his bag over his head, he