Page 16 of Dr. Bad Boy

“And what reality would that be? That we shared a night of incredible sex long before I was your client?”

Three months is hardlylongbefore anything, especially in my dating life. But that’s not the key focus now. “The reality is, you are my client, and any previous entanglement needs to sit firmly in the past to ensure that going forward, I’m able to provide you with the best possible legal counsel.”

“I’m sure you can do that while we reminisce. It was good for you.”

It wasgreatfor me, but that’s not the point. “Furthermore, the context around that evening cannot be ignored.”

“Context?” His jaw twitches.

“Surely you can’t be surprised that I was taken aback when I realized you thought I was a…”

“Call girl.” He lifts the lid off an antipasto plate. “Olive?”

I cross my arms. I won’t be misdirected here.

“You want context, Violet?” He leans in, his jaw tight and his eyes suddenly flashing. “I haven’t been with another woman since that night, because all I can think about is your mouth, your eyes, your voice. And I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

“So sorry that your pimp couldn’t arrange it that easily.” They’re ugly words and I wish I could take them back. I close my eyes so I don’t have to see his reaction. “There’s nothing else to say about it. I didn’t like that moment, Max. So even if the rest of it had been amazing—”

“If?” He snaps open another takeout container and I blink despite myself, because it smells incredible. Chicken medallions and green beans, tossed in something that looks and smells like lemon pepper.

My mouth waters. I squeeze my hands into tight fists.

“I’m clearly not who you thought I was. It was an accident, what happened. Best forgotten. It’s awkward, but in time we’ll move on.”

“You haven’t moved on yet, either.” A statement, not a question, the cocky bastard.

“It wasn’t such an abrupt change for me,” I say as I look at him again, this time owning my anger. Fuck him. “I wasn’t sleeping with anyone before you, so going back to that default state wasn’t a big deal.”

“What do you think about?” he asks, his voice low and his eyes trained on my mouth even as he unwraps a loaf of bread. “What can’t you forget?”

Him forcing himself into my throat. The fullness, the pressure, and the incredible release from trusting him to push me to, but not past, my limit. “Nothing,” I lie. “It was just great sex. Whatever.”

My cell phone rings. I glance at it, knowing it’s Matthew. This is my clever out, exactly as I’ve planned it.

I turn off the ringer. I don’t need to be rescued.

Max’s gaze follows my movements. First to turn off my phone, then to press my fingers against the out-of control pulse at the base of my neck.

Did he kiss me there? I can’t remember.

“You weren’t a mistake.”

My phone rings again. The screen lights up silently, and even though I turned the ringer off because I didn’t want to answer it, I don’t want Max to go there, either. So I ignore him and grab the phone I’d just pushed away.

“Hello?”

“This is your totally immature rescue call,” Matthew says. He’s watching a movie in the background. “I almost didn’t want to try a second time, but then I worried you might be dead.”

“I’m not dead.” Max gives me an amused look, one of his eyebrows quirking at the odd conversation.

“What kind of rescue call do you need if you can say that in front of whomever it is I’m rescuing you from?”

I clear my throat and look away from Max, who’s definitely wondering something along the same lines. “It’s complicated.”

“I bet. Will you be home later?”

“Definitely.”

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