The Gamble
Page 122

“A bunch of shit about how I needed to take care of Bitsy and take care of the business for Bitsy and how Bitsy had death threats too and, seein’ as I was readin’ his damned letter, how I needed to take care of that and what he was doin’ about it with the PI and how I couldn’t tell Bitsy her life was under threat.” He put the biscuit-coated hot dog on the tray and reached for another one. “Oh, and more shit about how he loved only Bitsy when he was f**kin’ Shauna.”
I tried to keep the tone light. “That’s a lot, was your letter ten pages long?”
Max’s eyes came to me. “Curt had a natural talent with bein’ able to be a serious f**kin’ pain in the ass in twenty words or less, so no.”
I smiled at him, put my hot dog down on the tray and started another one, asking, “So, he knew someone wanted to kill him.”
“Apparently, yeah.”
“Why didn’t he go to the police?”
“Question for the ages, babe, why did Curt do most of the shit he did?”
I had no answer for that.
“Does Bitsy know she’s under threat?” I went on.
“Mick and I talked, we thought she should know, we told her.”
“Oh dear,” I muttered, thinking that probably wasn’t very fun at all.
“Yeah, she didn’t know whether to be freaked or pissed.”
I looked from my hot dog to Max. “Which did she settle on?”
Max grinned at me and answered, “Pissed.”
I stopped wrapping hot dogs with gooey biscuit dough and leaned into Max. “Is she really going to be safe?”
Max stopped putting blankets on the pigs and held my eyes. “Yeah, she’d be here or we’d be there if I didn’t trust Mick. He’s got a man watchin’ her house. Burt, who drives her everywhere she needs to go when she isn’t with family or friends, has been told. Her folks and sister have been told. I talked to him and her brother-in-law is spendin’ the night tonight. They got a huge security system in that house, never use it, but Bitsy’s promised to keep it active when she’s in or out of the house.”
I was beginning to realize why the moody Max was in attendance that afternoon as I turned back to the hot dogs. “That makes me feel a little better.”
“I’ll feel better when they catch this f**k,” Max muttered.
“Me too,” I agreed and then I caught sight of his hot dogs and informed him, “Max, you don’t put two biscuits on the hot dog, only one.”
“One don’t cover it, Duchess,” Max informed me and I looked at him.
“Yes, well, this is true, but I don’t have two hundred pounds of pure muscle to fuel. I have a behind that likes biscuits and asks them to stay awhile in the form of fat. Ergo, only one biscuit.”
He grinned at me and proclaimed, “You got a great ass, babe.”
“I’ve got a fat ass, Max.”
Without warning, both his hands were on my ass and the front of my body was plastered to the front of his. Surprised at my new position and the swiftness I was in it, I put my hands on his chest and tilted my head back.
He wasn’t grinning anymore when he repeated, “You’ve got a great ass, Nina.”
“Max –”
“You aren’t fat.”
“Max –”
“Your whole body is f**kin’ beautiful.”
My heart skipped a beat and my stomach melted as did my body and it did this into him and I said again, “Max –”
“Not a big fan of my woman running herself down, not even doin’ it as a joke. You got an unbelievably pretty face, fantastic f**kin’ eyes and a spectacular body.”
“Max, I –”
His hands squeezed my bottom and he interrupted me. “And I hear you say different again, Duchess, I’m not gonna like it.”
I studied him and realized he was perfectly serious, about all of it, and I had no idea whatsoever how to respond to that.
“Yeah?” he prompted when I seemed unable to form words because I was too busy being moved by all he’d said and the fact that he meant it.
Then for some stupid, insane, irrational reason, five stupid, insane and irrational words came out of my mouth. “Why do you like me?”
His hands slid from my behind to the small of my back as his head tilted to the side and he asked, “What?”
“Why do you like me?” I threw out a hand and continued. “Why are you so sure about all of this?”
His grin came back and he stated, “It ain’t because you know how I like my coffee.”
My stomach melted to non-existence at him imparting the knowledge that he remembered what I said that morning and my hands slid up to his neck.
“You take your coffee black, Max, that isn’t hard to remember,” I told him and my hands gave his neck a squeeze. “And it also isn’t answering my question.”
“Think I just mentioned your pretty face, your beautiful eyes and your spectacular body,” he reminded me.
“That’s it?”
His eyes roamed the area of my head before they came to mine and he added, “You got great hair.”
“Max.”
He held my gaze for a long moment then his brows drew together and he asked, “You’re serious?”
I leaned back a bit in his arms and answered, “Of course.”
He watched me another moment then muttered in disbelief, “Fuck.”
“Fuck what?”
“You can’t be serious,” he told me.
“I am,” I replied.
“Babe,” he said.
And that was it. I waited for more but apparently that really was it.
“That’s it? Babe?”
“Nina, for Christ’s sake.” Now he sounded impatient and I started to get scared.
I drew back further but his arms got tighter.
“Max, I asked you a question,” I prompted, the fear becoming full-fledged as the impatience hit his features.
“Think you were there when you got in my face about rentin’ this house,” he told me.
“Yes, but –”
“And stomped on your high-heeled boots in your cute little tantrum when you walked out that first night and took me on again outside in a f**kin’ snowstorm.”
My tantrum wasn’t cute. It wasn’t even a tantrum. I was angry.
I let that slide and started, “Of course, but –”
“And you’re a zombie in the mornin’ and it’s f**kin’ adorable.”