“No, I think my schedule has been cleared for today.”

He walked me through the house, pointing out his family members’ rooms. I tried hard to ignore the fact that his room was directly across from mine. I was the mother of a six-year-old boy. Why was I so nervous to let this man lead me around?

“This is my studio.” He opened the door to a large room full of bright sunlight. “It used to be my mother’s office, but she gave it to me. The lighting in here is perfect.”

“Where does she work now?” I stepped into the room and took in the canvases leaning against the walls, the drop cloths that were speckled with paint, and the pictures that were tacked along the walls.

“In a room downstairs.” He watched me as I walked around the space.

There were tons of half-finished projects around the room, sketches pinned to boards, and photographs taped to a desk. Finished pieces leaned against the wall as if they were trash or forgotten.

I knelt down and looked at a painting of a city scene. New buildings were interspersed with old buildings. Brick and metal caught with casual strokes. I could imagine the sounds that he would have heard while working on the piece. On the terrace of an apartment sat a grandmother with a small boy. The old and the new.

Standing up, I walked around the room, uncovering treasures that were half obscured with discarded projects or trash. He followed behind me as I walked through his sanctum and I wondered what he was thinking.

“You’re messy.” I glanced at him.

“Comes with the trade.” He shrugged.

“I would figure your studio would be full of fur rugs and images of nudes.”

“Well, you haven’t seen my room yet.”

“Ah, that’s where you keep them.” I cut my eyes at him, a little worried that he wasn’t joking. “And is your bearskin rug in front of a fireplace?”

His eyes sparkled down at me. “I spilled chocolate milk on the fake bearskin rug when I was little.”

“Naughty.”

“You have no idea.” He took a step closer to me and my back hit the wall.

“I have a pretty big imagination.” I whispered the words, but my attention was focused on his mouth.

“We should test that out.”

“Could be dangerous.”

“I’m willing to take the risk.” His reached up to touch my face with one hand, his other hand pressed against the wall next to my shoulder.

“Max.” I wasn’t sure why I said his name. Did I want him to stop? Was I begging for more? I wasn’t sure.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to kiss you.” His eyes met mine in all seriousness. His fingers caressed my jaw, sending shivers down my body. “Because it’s all I can think of doing.”

I licked my lips and watched as his pupils dilated. His breath fanned across my face and I reached up and placed a hand on his chest. His heart beat against my fingertips and I couldn’t drag my eyes from his.

I shouldn’t want him to kiss me. I shouldn’t. I didn’t kiss men. It was too real.

But I did want him to kiss me. I wanted so much more than just a kiss.

“Kiss me.”

Something akin to victory lit his features, but he didn’t rush for the prize. Instead he leaned forward and barely grazed my lips with his. I could feel his heart jackhammering under my touch, matching my own.

“Are you sure?”

“Kiss me, damn it.” I fisted my hand in his shirt and tugged him toward me.

He wasted no time. His lips pressed against mine as he tilted my head up. There was nothing held back this time, nothing left to the imagination. He nipped my bottom lip between his teeth and I gasped in pleasure. He was in control of the kiss, his tongue soft but determined as it tangled with mine.

I ran my free hand through his hair, grabbing a handful so that he couldn’t pull away until I was ready. His body pressed into mine so that I could feel every delicious muscle under his shirt, the strength in his thighs. His hands went to my waist, pushing my shirt up so that his fingers were touching my skin.

It was just as good as the first time he had kissed me. Maybe even better. I could become addicted to the way he felt pressed against me, the way he tasted.

When he broke the kiss, it was only to trail soft kisses down my neck. His breath rushed over my cle**age and I felt my ni**les tighten in excitement just before his lips glided across my collarbone. Warm fingers inched upward under my shirt until they were tracing the wire of my bra. His mouth covered mine again and I let my hands explore his chest. Tracing the hard lines of his body all the way down to where his plaid shirt was tucked into his jeans.

I let my fingers run along the top of his belt, tracing the dips created by his muscles, and around to his back, where I tugged at his shirt. My fingers ran over his skin, delighting in the way he had increased our kiss, as if I had pushed him to the edge. His hand moved to cup my breast and I moaned into his mouth. His traced my nipple through the thin material of my bra with his thumb and I arched against him.

“Meredith,” he whispered against my ear. “You’re killing me.”

“I’m not done yet.” Pulling his face back to mine I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth. If I was going to break my cardinal rule for men, then I was going to shatter it to pieces.

His free hand slid down to cup my ass, pressing his excitement against my side. With soft fingers he rolled my nipple before gently pinching it. My head fell back and I groaned. It felt good to be touched. It felt right to be touched by Max.