“Okay.” I pause and pretend to think. “Kieran.”
He glares, and it’s sexy as hell. “You’re supposed to say that you found me sexiest when I was being myself. C’mon, Eden.”
“Oh. Well, sure. But the accent, Max. That freaking, goddamn sexy accent.”
His face darkens, and he advances on me until I’m scooting my butt back on the table. Then he’s climbing up, crawling after me with an expression that screams of all the things he’s about to do. I’m certain there could be spanking involved.
“Oh, yeh like the accent, do yeh, lass?”
“God, yes. Keep talking.”
He kneels between my legs and unbuckles his belt, and my gaze falls to where his long erection is straining the fabric of his suit pants. “Oh, I’ll keep talkin’ alright. Top ‘o the mornin’ to yeh, Miss Tate. Now, get yer feckin’ panties off.”
There’s a rush of activity as we get clothing off and out of the way, and when there’s only skin pressing against skin, we both groan in relief as he pushes into me.
He looks down at me in awe, and cradles my head as his hips connect with mine. He fills me so completely, I don’t want him to move.
“Max ... I love you.”
He leans his forehead against mine. “I love you, too.” His voice is soft. “God, Eden, how I love you.”
As he starts to thrust, slow and deep, all of a sudden, nothing else exists for me outside the circle of his arms. For so many years I thought I knew about pleasure. I thought it was defined by the empty, soulless encounters I engaged in after I’d had enough alcohol to dull my expectations. But this ... having a man who looks at me like I’m the reason the sun rises is a powerful reminder that I knew nothing, and I’m more than happy for Max to educate me as he slides home, time and again, proving without a doubt that pleasure with him is in a whole other universe compared with other men.
As a testament to that pleasure, the warehouse echoes with muttered curses and strained moans as we give the conference table the most mind-blowing christening possible. Twice.
In fact, we christen a lot of the new offices over the next several hours. Romance Central well and truly earns its name.
When our bodies are heavy and satisfied, and we’re wrapped in a rug on Max’s oversized leather couch, he leans down and kisses me, and I think it’s the sweetest, most loving kiss I’ve ever experienced. It tells me how happy he is. How grateful. And I kiss him back, doing my best to tell him I feel exactly the same way.
“Do you still think that happy endings are a myth?” he asks, running his fingertips up and down my arm.
I stroke his beautiful face, more content than I’ve ever been. “I may not believe in happy endings, but happy beginnings are another story.”
He smiles, and as we adjust to a more comfortable position, I snuggle into his chest and close my eyes.
Even though I teased him about finding Kieran the most attractive, the truth is, I fell in love with every single one of his characters, because they were all different versions of him. Each was sexy, and sweet, and intelligent as hell. Each mesmerized and aroused me. But the real Max, the man he is every day, when no one but me is looking, is my one true love. He took a distrustful cynic and turned her into a woman who totally believes in the healing power of love. He opened my eyes to the reality that a kind touch and loving glance can make people feel more special than all the money in the world. And even if he never goes near another costume for the rest of his life, I’ll always think of him as a superhero and a rock star, all wrapped up in one.
But perhaps his most impressive achievement is helping me to finally understand that romance rules, and anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is fooling themselves.