Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 19

The room. Oh, Lord, that hotel room. When she'd dropped the towel and he'd seen her curves in the mirror...When he'd woken to find her stroking his body...When he'd explored her body extremely thoroughly with his hands and his mouth, and taken her over the edge of pleasure...

He definitely couldn't stand up for the next five minutes or so, or she'd notice exactly what his problem was. And he'd better start running through some mathematics in his head, to get his mind off thoughts of Cyn's naked body. More particularly, to stop himself thinking of how close his bed was, and how easy it would be to carry her upstairs. Just as he'd carried her there last week. Before peeling off her clothes and making long, slow love with her. All night.

'Is she doing what I think she's doing?' Lisa asked Max in a stage whisper, standing a mug of coffee on each of their desks.

'If you mean did I call the office and say I'm taking time off, yes,' Cyn said coolly as she cut the connection on her phone. 'Time in lieu.'

Lisa scoffed. 'You never take time in lieu.'

'I do now.' A muscle flickered in her jaw.

Lisa frowned. 'What's happened?'

'Nothing.'

The denial was too fast, and Cyn clearly knew it, because Max noticed that she didn't meet his eyes-or Lisa's.

'You were meant to hear about the promotion today. Are they making you wait until Monday, now?' Lisa asked.

'No. They've sent the letters out.'

'Hang on. Are you saying you didn't get the promotion?' Lisa asked in shock.

'Bull's-eye,' Cyn said.

Cyn had gone for promotion and hadn't got it? 'Why?' Max asked.

'Apparently, I put too many hours in. I don't have a rounded social profile.' Cyn shrugged. 'So I'm working office hours, from now on. And I'm taking the time in lieu that's owed to me. If there's a problem, Rob or Gus from my team will text me.'

'But-that's ridiculous. Of course you have a rounded social profile. You go out, don't you? And it's not a good enough reason for not giving you the promotion,' Max said. 'If you're the best at what you do and you work hard, you deserve the job.'

'That's not how our human resources department sees it,' Cyn said tightly.

'What are you going to do?' Lisa asked.

'For the moment, I'll stay at RCS. But I'm thinking seriously about finding another job. Maybe I'll go freelance, work for myself. I've got a decent reputation.'

Just what Max had thought about himself. Except now he'd crashed and burned. And he'd realised now just how fragile reputations could be. 'It's a risk,' he warned.

'One that's going to be worth taking.'

Yeah, but it wasn't the risk he wanted her to take. He wanted her to take the risk with him. And somehow he had to find a way of telling her, without scaring her off for good.

By the end of the office day, Cyn was still working on the data.

'I'm going home now,' Lisa said from the doorway.

'Um, if you want to leave now, Cyn...?' Max asked.

She shook her head. 'I'm just starting to really get somewhere. I'll carry on for a bit longer, if you don't mind.'

'She loves doing forensic stuff. You'll have to throw her out,' Lisa predicted. 'Or maybe I should ring you both at ten to tell you to get your b.u.t.ts out of the office.'

'There's no need. I won't make Cyn slave that late at night,' Max protested.

'You won't have to. She'll do that all by herself,' Lisa said wryly. 'And you're just as bad.'

'I'll send her home before eight,' Max promised.

'A likely story. See you when I see you, Cyn. And unless you need me in tomorrow-in which case, just text me-I'll see you on Monday, boss,' Lisa said, closing the door behind her.

So there they were. Just the two of them. Too close for comfort, Cyn thought. But Max had kept his distance during the day. He'd continue to do it during the evening, too. She hoped-because it was stupid to hope for what she really wanted.

That he would do the opposite.

That he'd touch her again.

That he'd sweep her off her feet and kiss all her doubts away.

At half past seven, Max switched off the light over his drawing board. 'What would you like for dinner?'

He was planning to take her out to dinner? 'No need,' she said stiffly. 'I'll get a take-away delivered when I get home.'

'You've been working flat out all day. You haven't had a break-and I'm starving, so you must be too.'

Well, yes. She was hungry.

'It won't take me long to knock something together-and it's as easy to cook for two as it is for one.'

He was going to cook for her? The men of Cyn's acquaintance weren't domesticated. The nearest they came to preparing a meal was phoning for a take-away. They certainly wouldn't know how to make a meal from scratch.

And then she remembered the email he'd sent her.

I love cooking-and I'm *good* at things I love doing.

Oh, dear.

At least he didn't comment on her silence. 'Thai okay with you?' he asked.

'Fine.' More than fine. She adored Thai food.

'Twenty minutes, then. My kitchen's at the top of the stairs, turn left.' He grinned. 'Follow your nose.'

She didn't last for twenty minutes. The scent was just too good. Lemon gra.s.s, coconut milk, ginger-she recognised the smells. And they made her even hungrier. When she reached the kitchen doorway, she stood there, just watching him. Max was a methodical cook, efficient and neat; from the look of it, he'd chopped everything and put it neatly into bowls ready to be sc.r.a.ped into the pan, then stacked the bowls up as he emptied them.

And the look on his face: concentrated, intense. Just like the way he worked at his draughtboard.

Just like the way he made love.

With an effort, she pushed the idea out of her mind, and walked into the kitchen. 'Hi.'

'Hi.'

'Your kitchen's amazing.'

'Thank you.'

Last time she'd been at his place, she hadn't got the chance to see it. Because he'd carried her up two flights of stairs straight to his bed, at the top of the house. They'd taken a rain check on the tour of the rest of the building. Oh, h.e.l.l. That was definitely something she shouldn't be thinking about. She needed to focus on the room, not on memories of s.e.x with Max.

He'd installed a traditional Shaker kitchen in light oak, adding granite worktops and top-notch appliances. Dream kitchen. But this wasn't a show kitchen; it was definitely a cook's kitchen. Max was perfectly at ease there. For a second, she could imagine working with him in that kitchen: making things together, popping teasing morsels in each other's mouths, getting distracted by each other...

Whoa. She'd promised herself she wouldn't go there.

'I love my house,' he said softly.

She could hear the fear in his voice: that he'd lose everything he'd worked for. He'd told her how he'd fallen in love with a pile of rubble, mortgaged himself to the hilt and roughed it until he could afford to do it up the way he'd seen it in his head.

And it was in her power now to make sure he didn't lose it. 'Don't worry, Max. I'll find out the truth. I'll prove that those designs are yours and clear your name.'

His face said the words he clearly didn't want to utter: I hope so. 'Thank you. If you want to make yourself useful, you can lay the table. The cutlery's in there.' He nodded towards a drawer.

Glad of something to do, she laid the table. A couple of minutes later, he dished up sticky coconut rice and Thai chicken.

'It's very good,' she said after her first mouthful.

'Thank you.'

Though it was hardly surprising that Max was a good cook. His claim hadn't been empty. He was extremely good at things he liked doing. Her stomach clenched as she remembered the feel of his hands on her skin, his mouth against hers. Teasing. Tempting. Inciting her to go wild.

When would this longing go away?

She didn't trust herself to speak. Her awkwardness must have transmitted itself to Max because he didn't speak either.

Crazy. Considering they'd talked and talked, the night they'd walked down the Thames together. About buildings and music and poetry- No. Not a good idea to think about poetry. Or the lines he'd quoted at her.

'Before, behind, between, above, below.'

What he'd done with her.

Because she wasn't going to let it happen again. She wasn't going to lose her heart to Max and watch him walk out of her life when he panicked. Max and commitment just didn't go together. She had to remember that.

She refused his offer of pudding and coffee. And he refused her offer of helping with the was.h.i.+ng up.

'I'll drive you home,' Max said, taking his keys out of his pocket. 'My car's fixed now.'

'No need. I can get the tube.'

'Cyn, it's late. And it's the least I can do, considering you're about to save my neck.'

Neck? Yeah-hers was stiff. She shuffled surrept.i.tiously, hoping to ease the ache, but he noticed.

'You spent too long sitting in one position.'

Yes, well. It was her own fault. She knew better than to sit hunched over a keyboard without a break. The health and safety people at RCS were forever giving training sessions on how to avoid RSI. Though the techies were all guilty of ignoring the advice when they were involved in a project. They got caught up in what they were doing and, without a timer to remind them, they didn't think to take proper breaks. And she was definitely guilty of grabbing a sandwich at her desk and working through her lunch hour, most days. 'I'm fine,' she fibbed.

'No, you're not.' He slid his keys back into his pocket and walked behind her. 'Sit. Don't argue.'

To her mingled horror and pleasure, he began to ma.s.sage her neck and shoulders. His touch was firm and sure, and within a couple of minutes he'd eased the kinks out of her muscles.

It felt so good. She closed her eyes, leaning forward slightly. So good. And supposing he lowered his head now, followed the movement of his fingers with his mouth? Just as he had that night in the hotel, when he'd kissed the back of her neck and sent desire surging through her. Just as he had when he'd kissed her all over in his big, wide bed.

She clung to the remnants of her common sense. This had to stop. Right now. 'Thank you. I'm fine now.' And please take your hands off me before I do something stupid, she added silently. Like begging you to carry me to your bed again.

What would it be like to live with someone who could do this for you? The man of her dreams. Intelligent, s.e.xy, and so very skilled with his hands. In so many ways.

She shook herself. Stupid. She wasn't even going out with him, let alone planning to live with him. Think of all the times you've seen your mum crying, she told herself. Max didn't even ring you when he said he would-how can you trust him with more? Do you want to end up like your mum, breaking your heart over yet another man who's let you down?

'I'll take you home,' Max said quietly.

She collected her handbag from his office. 'I'll leave the laptop with you for now. I'm not planning to do any more work tonight, and it'll save me hauling it around on the tube tomorrow morning.'

'I can pick you up tomorrow, if you want?' he offered.

'No, I'll be fine.'

'It wouldn't be a problem. And the offer's open, so call me if you change your mind.' He locked the front door and ushered her to his car.

The low-slung two-seater: when she'd last sat in it, he'd kissed her for the first time. Thoroughly.

Cyn made sure that she buckled her own seat belt, this time. She didn't trust herself. The lightest brush of her skin against his, and she'd be tempted to grab him. Best to avoid temptation. She was supposed to be training herself to fall out of love with him, not deeper in love with him.

It seemed to take hours until he finally pulled up outside her house and switched off the engine.

Kiss me.

The desire was so strong, it was like a physical pain. But the only way to ease it would be to do something that would cause her a great deal more pain in the future. So she was going to play it safe.

She undid her seat belt.

But before she had the chance to climb out of the car, his hand circled her wrist. 'Cyn.'

She turned to look at him. Mistake. Big mistake. Those gorgeous blue eyes had her melting in seconds.

'Thank you for coming to my rescue.' He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed each knuckle in turn.

'No worries,' she croaked.

His lips were still grazing her skin. Sensitising it. Since when had the back of her hand been an erogenous zone?