Crazy for Love (19 page)

“I was going to say the same thing about you.”

She opened her eyes and smiled at the ceiling.

“But with women, I mean.”

“Uh-huh.”

He grinned, and she could feel the curve of it against her neck. The pain in her heart burned brighter. It was too soon for this. Too soon because she barely knew him, and too soon because she was surely on the rebound. Max was nothing like Thomas, so she found herself falling for him. Simple as that.

Except that it wasn't that simple. Max was nothing like anyone she'd ever known. Charming and grumpy at the same time. Laid-back and constantly worried. He was complicated, and the layers fascinated her.

“You smell so good,” Max whispered against her neck.

“I could put on some sunscreen for old times' sake.”

He shook his head, edging off her to get rid of the condom. “Why don't girls wear that nice coconut oil anymore?”

“Because it was meant to increase UV exposure? Those girls who used to smell like coconut? They
look
like coconuts now.”

When he lay back down and tucked her into his shoulder, Chloe snuggled in with a happy sigh.

“So how did you find this place if that crazy woman doesn't like people?”

“My dad was her mailman for twenty years. He said that every single day he'd find her standing next to her mailbox, waiting for the mail. Not anything specific, just waiting for the chance to glare at him if he was late. Then one day she wasn't there. He thought it was a little odd, but the next day she wasn't there, either, and she hadn't picked up the mail from the day before. He got worried. He braved the forest in the front yard and knocked on her door and heard the dog barking, so he called the police. She'd had a stroke and hit her head on a table, and she would've died if he hadn't noticed.”

“Wow.”

“Now that he's retired, he stops by once a week to see her. She's still ornery, but now she serves him cookies in her kitchen and complains bitterly about the new mail carrier. When my dad mentioned my search for an apartment, she offered me this.”

“I like it.”

“Liar.”

He let that go, and so did Chloe. It wasn't important. This place was only temporary and it reflected nothing about her but her misery.

She decided to change the subject. “How long before you have to go back to your job?”

Max sighed so hard that her head sank two inches before he inhaled. “Three weeks.”

“I'll bet you can't wait. Especially after a vacation like this.”

“Mmm.”

She could picture him out there on the open ocean, sun-bleached hair whipping in the wind, smile on his face as he took control of every situation. “God, you must love it out there. No stray people wandering in with their strange problems.”

He took another deep breath, the air in his lungs whooshing under her ear.

“It's just you and your friends. How many people are on the ship?”

“Between eighteen and twenty. Most are divers.”

“Wow.”

“And I'm responsible for every single one.”

Chloe's eyes popped open and she frowned at the little bookshelf against the far wall. Her gaze caught on
Moby-Dick.
Uh-oh. “What do you mean?”

“I'm the dive supervisor. I'm responsible for every person who touches the water.”

“That sounds perfect for you.”

“Sure.” Such a simple word, but Chloe heard years of stress inside that one, small syllable.

She pushed up on her hands so that she could see his face. “Max?”

“Yeah?” He didn't open his eyes.

“Do you like your job?”

He shrugged as if the answer were inconsequential, but he still wouldn't open his eyes.

“Max?”

“I hate it,” he said flatly. He finally looked at her and his eyes were dark with misery. “It's ridiculous. Who wouldn't want to live on a boat in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea and hunt for treasure? It's a dream job. That's what got me interested. I had an ulcer my sophomore year of college—”

“Max!”

“It was a stressful year. I was trying to help Elliott decide on a school. I didn't want him to make any mistakes—”

“Everybody makes mistakes.”

“Okay, I didn't want him to make any really bad mistakes. And I had a girlfriend who…” He waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway, with school on top of everything else, I was a little stressed out. I saw a diving show on TV, and it looked so…quiet. And the first time I tried diving, I fell in love. The technical aspects of it were a little scary, but once I was in the water, it was just me. I'd never felt peaceful before. Ever. And in that moment, on my first dive, I was at peace.”

She thought of the dive on the wreck and nodded. “I can see that.”

“I thought I'd found the solution to my insane life. Living out on a boat, isolated, a limited number of people to think about.” He shook his head. “I don't know. It was a mistake.”

“Do you hate it that much?”

“Yes. At first, when I was just a diver, it was okay. But on my second ship, I didn't trust the supervisor. He was lax. So I started rechecking everything and…it became my job, and I hate it.”

“So quit! There must be something else you can do.”

His muscles had slowly hardened to steel beneath her. “I can't quit.”

“You're under contract or something?”

“No. But I can't leave. What if I leave and something happens to one of the divers?”

“Wouldn't they have a new dive supervisor?”

“No one's as good as I am.” The words didn't sound boastful or arrogant. They sounded resigned.

Poor Max. She could argue with him, try to convince him that he was being ridiculous. But she must have spent too much time pressed against him, absorbing his thoughts, because she could see the logic of his argument.

But how long did his responsibility extend? How many years did the obligation remain? Five years
after he left? Ten? He wouldn't be able to tell her, so she didn't ask. She laid her head back down.

“Okay, so what would you do if you could do anything? If there were no repercussions to leaving the ship, what would you do?”

He was quiet for a long moment, and Chloe used the time to spread her fingers wide over his heart. His skin looked so brown against her pale hand.

“It's boring,” he finally said.

“That sounds perfect for you. What is it?”

“I want to be a carpenter. Maybe a cabinet-maker.”

“Really?”

“Then I'd never have to see the ocean again. Or a boat. Or divers.”

“Are you good at that kind of stuff?”

“I worked for a carpenter in high school and college. I liked the precision of it. You were careful and you measured and, in the end, everything fit together perfectly. I was good at it. Before I gave it up for diving, I worked for a guy who designed custom furniture. The last time I was on leave I made a whole wall of built-in bookshelves for Elliott. It was so relaxing.”

“Could you make a living doing that?”

“It might take a while to be profitable, but I'm lucky enough not to have to worry about that.”

“Are you saying you've been hoarding treasure for all these years?”

His chuckle rumbled through her. “Exactly.”

“Wow. A carpenter.”

“Yeah, what do you think of the smell of sawdust?”

“Hot. Much hotter than old seaweed. You should… You really feel that you can't leave the ship?”

He put his hand over hers and dragged his fingertips lightly over her knuckles. “No one in the industry has a better record than I do. How do I get past that? My shipmates are like family. How can I turn them over to someone I know isn't as careful as I am?”

She didn't know the answer to that. It wasn't his responsibility to take care of these people for the rest of his life, except that for him, it was. The weight of it pulled his voice down when he spoke about the ship. It pulled
him
down.

She didn't have an answer, so she just wrapped her arms around him and held him until they both fell asleep.

M
AX WAS IN HEAVEN.
He woke slowly, aware that he was in a dark, unfamiliar room. No water sounds drifted to his ears. No crashing waves or lapping ocean. In fact, the only thing he could hear was an air conditioner whirring away somewhere to his left, keeping the room cold while a pile of covers kept his body warm. The round ass pressed against his dick was helping keep his body temperature up, too. Chloe.

He stretched slowly, careful not to wake her. She stirred enough to make him gasp, then settled back into sleep. This was what he'd been missing in his life. A sweet, soft woman and not one other person to think about.

Hard as he was, he didn't do anything more than sneak an arm around her waist. She murmured something too soft to hear and curled her fingers over his to hold him tightly. Max closed his eyes and wondered what it would be like to live like this. On land, in a tiny apartment, with Chloe.

He had no right to think such things, of course.
His job would take him away soon, and Chloe wasn't in a place that invited long-term commitment, but inside his own head, Max could think whatever he wanted to. Then again, he couldn't think of much of anything when Chloe nudged her ass even tighter against him with a sleepy little sigh. Nice.

Fingers still covered by hers, he slid his hand up to cup her breast. Her hand tightened against his, pressing him into her. She was awake, and she wanted him.

Max made love to her more slowly than he'd ever made love to anyone. It seemed as if a whole hour had passed before he collapsed on his back, as exhausted as if he'd never even slept. But Chloe was wide-awake. She bounced up to her knees, making for a very nice, if sadly unlit view.

“It's only six-thirty,” she said.

“Mmm. More sleep.”

“Okay, but…the paparazzi will be here in an hour, and unless you want to have Ramen noodles for breakfast, we should sneak out now.”

The bed was so soft. He curled a hand around the silk skin of her thigh and closed his eyes. “Ramen is great.”

When she slapped his arm, Max's eyes popped wide-open. “Get up. I used up a lot of calories last
night.
And
this morning. I want blueberry pancakes.”

His stomach growled in response, and Max aimed a glare at his traitorous belly.

“Come on. Shower with me?”

Well, then. “Is your shower big enough for two?”

“Nah. I was just trying to trick you into getting up.”

“Heartless witch.” But heartless or not, Max decided he'd do anything to make her happy, even stumble out of bed before dawn. They showered and dressed, then Max stopped to lecture her about not having a smoke detector in her bedroom before they tiptoed down the stairs and opened the ancient wooden garage door. It was Sunday morning, and not another soul seemed to be awake. Relieved, Max started to open the passenger-side door, but Chloe shook her head.

“Wrong side. You sit over here.”

He walked around the white SUV. “You want me to drive?”

“Nope,” she said as she slid into her seat and slammed the door.

Max opened his door with a frown. “If you…What the hell?” There was no steering wheel, no gas pedal.

“My dad got it at auction from the post office for a steal.”

“A steal? The steering wheel's on the wrong side!”

“It's a mail carrier truck. On rural routes, the driver can stick mail in the boxes without having to get out of the truck.”

“But…” Max registered some vague memory of seeing an arm reach out of a truck to stick a stack of envelopes in a mailbox. “But it's on the wrong side.”

“Come on. I'm hungry.”

Frowning, he sat down and buckled his seat belt, his head buzzing with the wrongness of the layout. He kept frowning even when Chloe leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

She backed out of the garage, then hopped out to lower the door, the rising sun sneaking through the houses to light her face in a rosy glow. But Max barely noticed this; he was too busy feeling nervous.

He was okay when she eased the truck down the narrow alley and onto the tree-shaded side street, but before he could prepare himself, Chloe turned onto the wider street that fronted the house, and soon they were driving way too fast for Max's taste. He clutched the handle of the door, totally disoriented by the vehicle's mixed-up layout. His foot pressed
against a phantom brake pedal, toes straining so hard that they hurt. He was in the position of responsibility, the driver's seat, and there was nothing he could do to control the truck.

“How far is the restaurant?” he managed to ask past his clenched jaw.

“About five minutes. Why?”

“I don't like this.”

“We'll sneak back into my place from the front.”

“No, I mean, I don't like
this.
”

Chloe finally seemed to register that he was digging his nails into the upholstery. “What's wrong?”

“This truck is wrong!”

“Whoa. Are you freaking out?”

Max gripped the door handle tighter as Chloe passed a slow-moving sedan. “I'm not freaking out. You can't tell me that anyone likes riding in this truck.”

“Er…actually, no one seems to care much. They think it's funny.”

“Funny?” She was driving way too close to the center line. How could she not see that? Another car approached, its headlights aglow in the pinkish light, and Max squeezed his eyes shut. “Would you mind easing over to the right a little? I think your perspective is off.”

“You're not having a panic attack, are you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? You look pale.”

He forced a smile and ignored the bead of sweat sliding down his hairline. “Hey, I've got a better idea for breakfast. Why don't we just go back to your place? If you've got a can of whipped cream, all I need is you and a kitchen table.”

“Seriously, Max? Even you aren't pulling that off.”

“Oh, Jesus,” he prayed as Chloe sped up to make a quick turn past a yellow light.

She patted his hand. “We're almost there now. No point in turning back.”

He pressed his foot harder to the floorboard, his toes numb from the pressure, and clenched his jaw to keep from shouting something ridiculous. Like
Please stop the car and let me out here before I throw up!

The car bumped over something, but he kept his eyes closed until it rolled to a gentle stop. He cracked one eyelid open and saw a sidewalk and a fence. Forcing the other eye open, he made out the rest of the parking lot and popped open the handle of the door. When he set his foot to the asphalt, Max felt like an astronaut stepping out of a space shuttle after a safe landing back on earth. He just managed not
to fall to his knees and kiss the wonderfully solid ground.

“Maybe you should ride in the backseat on the way home.”

“Maybe I should.”

Chloe cleared her throat while he rolled his shoulders and stretched his tight neck. “So…no control issues, huh?”

“None at all.”

“So you're ready to eat?”

His stomach turned, but he managed to hold out an arm and tilt his head charmingly toward the restaurant. “I'm starving. After you, madam.” But when he considered the ride home, Max found himself ordering toast and coffee, and he willfully ignored every raised eyebrow Chloe aimed in his direction. He wanted this weekend to be totally normal, and so it would be, despite the complete, chaotic mess that seemed to dominate Chloe's everyday life.

She's normal,
he repeated to himself over and over again.
Everything is totally normal.

But it was just the start of the day, after all.

 

“S
O WHAT DOES YOUR DAD DO NOW
?” Max asked.

Chloe glanced at the rearview mirror. He did look slightly less crazed in the backseat, but she noticed that he kept his eyes closed. “Now he gardens. And does something like Meals on Wheels.
Mom is trying to get him to take up golf to get him out of the house more, but he says he enjoys their time together too much for that.”

“And your mom disagrees?”

“She's used to having the house to herself.” She caught him smiling in the mirror, and she smiled back, even though he couldn't see her. “See? I told you I was normal. Perfectly average and normal. I even had a dog named Lassie when I was growing up.”

“You did not.”

“Did, too. So what was your family like? Obviously I know your brother, but what about your parents?”

The smile faded and he let his head fall back onto the headrest. “Papa was a rolling stone. He'd show up out of the blue and hang around for a few months, then be on his way again. He liked the idea of having two big, strong sons, but he wasn't interested in taking care of a family.”

“Ooh.” When she looked again, Max met her eyes in the mirror.

“Yeah, it's so transparent it's kind of embarrassing. I've been the man of the house since I was seven years old. But a seven-year-old can't tell his mother what to do, and little brothers are kind of resistant to that sort of thing, too. I imagine that's when I started developing creative ways to take charge.”

“You mean ‘maintain complete control over everyone around you'?”

“I just like things to be safe and sound, that's all.”

Chloe let it go. She didn't even start humming “Queen of Denial.” He knew what he was. There was no need to force him to say it, unless, of course, she had him naked and at her mercy.

She turned onto her street and heard Max breathe a sigh of relief as she pulled up to the curb in front of Mrs. Schlessing's house. “I'll move the truck back to the garage tonight after dark. Let's try to get up the stairs quickly. Sometimes they won't notice if they're on the phone.”

“Got it.”

But something was a little off today. Before they reached the wrought-iron gate, a man appeared on the corner, camera pointed in their direction. As Max pushed the screeching gate open, the man started jogging toward them. “Max!” he yelled. “Max Sullivan!”

Chloe stumbled as she squeezed through the narrow opening. “They found out your real name.”

“Damn it.” He forced himself through, though the metal must have scraped his back, then he slammed the gate shut and started up the overgrown path after Chloe. A huge mass of fur and muscle came barreling past them, fangs bared in a vicious growl. Max
yelped and pressed into one of the bushes, but the dog aimed straight for the gate, slamming into the metal and pushing his muzzle through the bars to snap at the photographer. That distracted the guy enough for Chloe and Max to disappear into the vines.

“I'm sorry,” Chloe offered feebly, mortified that he had to suffer the experience of crazed photographers screaming out his name. “I'm really sorry.”

He said, “No big deal,” but his voice had that pulled-down sound again.

The path drew close to the main house, and Mrs. Schlessing appeared on the porch in housecoat and slippers, her shotgun cradled in her arms.

“It's okay, Mrs. Schlessing. It's just the press again. I parked in front to try to avoid them.”

“Damn pushy vultures.”

“The gate's shut and Brutus has it covered. You can put the gun away.”

She was still muttering when they turned to follow the path around to the side of the house.

“Is that thing really loaded?” Max whispered.

“I'm pretty sure it is.” Smiling over her shoulder, Chloe didn't register the voices at first. Not until she saw Max's eyes widen, his gaze focused somewhere ahead.

Chloe whipped around to make sure the carriage house wasn't on fire. It wasn't, but from the sound of
it, a whole brigade of people seemed ready to capture every lick of flame on film if it was. Up to this point, she'd been mildly hounded. At most, three or four photographers had staked out the alleyway, trying to capture a moment of her life that would earn them a paycheck. But now… She couldn't see them past the fence, but she could see the three video cameras that had been erected on top of a van parked in the alley. Every lens was focused straight on her. And Max. “Oh, God. What's going on?” This didn't make sense. It was Sunday. Surely the DA hadn't made any announcements. She stopped in her tracks, wondering what she should do. Go forward or go back? But when Max bumped her heel from behind, she started walking again. Fast. Then faster, until she was jogging toward the stairs. “Come on,” she urged Max, waving for him to hurry.

“Max!” Someone else shouted, and Chloe cringed.

“Max! How did you end up with the Bridezilla?”

“Is she a friend of Genevieve Bianca?”

Chloe was halfway up the stairs. She heard the still cameras clicking and whirring. The video cameras were menacing in their silence, as always. Something about their blank, impassive lenses creeped her out. Too many bad science fiction movies, maybe.

“Chloe! How long have you been sleeping with Max Sullivan?”

She couldn't find her keys. She'd just had them. Where could they possibly—she patted her right pocket and snatched them out in triumph, keeping her face tilted down toward the doorknob.

“Max! What does Genevieve think of your dating Chloe Turner?”

“Where did you meet?”

She turned the key so hard that her wrist yelped with pain, but that little twinge didn't bother her, because she was finally through the door and cocooned in darkness. The first thing she'd done when she'd moved in was buy light-blocking shades. If she couldn't see out, they couldn't see in.

Max slipped inside and shut the door behind him.

“Oh, my God, Max. What's wrong with them?”

He shook his head and collapsed slowly back against the door.

“It's never…” Though she tried hard to draw a breath, her throat had squeezed itself shut “…been like…this.”

“Chloe?”