Page 206 of Claimed At First Sight

Maximo stands behind the island with an espresso in one hand and his phone in the other. The gentle melody plays through hidden speakers, softer than anything I would have associated with him.

He’s changed back into one of his customary black suits.

Shame.

Those charcoal tracksuit pants were sinful enough to qualify as a threat to public morality. Then again, considering my new plan depends on maintaining some degree of control around him, the suit is probably a blessing.

Except he has left off the jacket and tie, and the top two buttons of his white shirt are undone. His sleeves are rolled back to his forearms, revealing strong wrists and a dusting of dark hair that my eyes have no business following.

My mouth goes dry.

Maximo looks up from his phone. His gaze travels over me, taking in the dress, leggings, and boots before returning to my face. I prepare myself for the smug smile, the pointed comment, or some unbearable reference to what happened in front of the fire.

None comes.

He sets his phone on the counter and regards me with the same calm composure as always, as though I hadn’t begged him to touch me this morning. More importantly, he shows no sign that he caught me inside his bedroom while he was doing… that.

Surely, if he’d seen me, he’d say something. Maximo never wastes an opportunity to gain an advantage. Relief loosens some of the tension in my shoulders.

“Are you okay?” he asks, the corners of his mouth lifting, as though he can hear every panicked thought racing through my head.

Heat rushes into my cheeks with such force that I’m sure he can watch the color spreading.

What is wrong with me?

He’s asking whether I slept comfortably or if I’m still frightened after the storm. He isn’t asking whether I’m okay after kissing him, begging him to touch me, or coming apart beneath him.

Unless he is.

Is he?

My fingers curl into the soft fabric of my dress as I search his expression for some indication that the question contains a hidden meaning. His eyes remain fixed on mine. They’re calm and unreadable as ever. Somehow, that only sends my thoughts racing faster.

“Why are you blushing?”

Oh God. He knows why I’m turning beet red. He’s just waiting for me to confess so he can stand there looking pleased with himself.

Searching desperately for an explanation that has nothing to do with the orgasm he coaxed from me without laying a hand between my thighs, I seize the first thought that enters my head.

“I’ve never spent the night with a man before.”

The words hang between us.

That’s no better. It sounded as though we had sex.

Maximo’s eyebrows rise, and the amusement already playing around his mouth deepens.

“Well, you know what I mean,” I add quickly. “Sleeping beside one. Actually sleeping.”

Something possessive sharpens in his eyes as he sets his espresso on the counter.

“I should hope not.”

His expression remains amused, but his voice carries a stern note that sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

“Every first of that kind belongs to me.”

The certainty in his voice does things to me that I refuse to acknowledge, now or ever.