Page 14 of My Pucking Crush
“The bedrooms are that way?” I stop him from turning a corner. “Where are you taking me?”
To bed, I’d love to hear him say.
“There’s a guest room for the housekeeper if she needs to stay over.”
Despite the updated appliances, this building is old, with classic molding and finishes. I bet it has maids’ quarters he’s talking about.
“And what if she does?” I fold my arms. “Do I sleep on the floor, or share a bed with her?”
Max tightens his fists for some reason, then shakes them loose, wincing in pain.
“Where’s your bedroom, Max?” I ask sharply.
“You’re not sleeping in my—”
“Show me.” I invade his space, my face in his to exercise my authority.
As I wait to be pushed, shoved, or punched, I breathe him in. It’s a mixture of day-old, faded cologne and malepower. His eyes hit my mouth and my cock throbs.
Jesus H. Christ. Is it remotely possible my obsession isn’t one hundred percent straight? Bi-curious was too much to hope for.
After stalling, Max turns and struts toward another hallway. My mouth twists in disappointment.
What the hell am I doing?
I’m really a murderer who will eventually live in the shadows again. Being in a relationship with a fucking star hockey player isn’t in the cards for me.
After Belova tried to have me killed, I disappeared and faked my younger sister’s death. Samara is twenty-nine, but I’m eight years older and always felt responsible for her. That was until she started freelancing as a cleaner for other mob families. No one who hires her wants to know her name, let alone her background. Or who’s after her.
And she’s damn good, based on the reports I get from her.
I shake away thoughts of my sister and follow Max down a hallway painted gray with crisp white chair rail molding and industrial chic overhead lights.
Max stops in front of a door. “This is my bedroom. Unless I’m screaming for help, you don’t step one foot in here, do you understand?”
Years on the enforcer team for Belova, protecting princesses or mistresses, I’ve heard this before. And always brushed it off. Hearing Max specifically tell me he doesn’t want me in his bedroom stings.
“Let’s get one thing straight.” My insides coil when his brows furrow at the word straight, like it’s a taunt. “My job is to protect you. If I think I need to be in that room, I’m coming in.”
“If the door is locked?”
“I’ll kick it down.”
Max flushes, his jaw trembling, his eyes right on my mouth again.
Try me, bad boy. Please....
“Take that bedroom.” He points to a closed door further down the hall.
I notice a door directly across from his and open it. It’s as if I’ve stepped into a hotel room at the Four Seasons. It has a king size bed, light blue painted walls with bright white wainscotting below. There’s fancy gunmetal gray lacquered furniture. While breathing in a scent of citrus and lavender, I see a bathroom in the far corner.
“I’ll stay in here, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind,” Max belts out. “That’s too close.”
“Too bad.” I toss in the one suitcase I carried with me and then brush past him to get the rest.
His bedroom door slams, and I shake my head, walking away. If he only knew what I do to men who throw tantrums.