Baring It All. Rebecca Hunter
“And he suggested you take some time off to have sex with other guys?” asked Alya.
“He didn’t say those words exactly, but he implied it.”
“Did he want you to report back to him?” asked Max. “Is this a kink thing?”
Both Natasha and Alya burst into laughter.
“I’m pretty sure Wayne is kink-free,” Natasha said with a snort. “He doesn’t seem to be into sex much at all.”
What the hell kind of man wasn’t into sex? A list of all the things he’d be into with Natasha came to Max’s mind, but it definitely wasn’t for her sister’s ears.
Natasha’s expression grew serious. And a little sad. Damn. She took a couple of gulps of fizzy water and glanced at Max as she set down the glass. “I’m really going to regret telling you all this tomorrow, aren’t I?”
He gave her a soft smile. “I’ll be sure to use it against you.”
Natasha met his gaze and smiled back, just a little at first, but then her lips curved up into a full smile. Goddamn. After three years of watching these dickheads come in and out of her life, she deserved so much better than this. A crease had formed on Alya’s brow, and Max was almost sure she was searching for a way to brighten up her sister’s disastrous evening.
Then Alya sat up in her chair. “Hey, this means you can come to Green Island with me now.”
Natasha’s gaze flitted away from his, and a new flush rushed to her cheeks.
“What about Hawaii?” she asked her sister.
“Is going to Hawaii alone really better than a tropical island with your sister?” Alya flashed Natasha a photo spread–ready grin.
Max’s heart pumped faster as he watched this exchange. Natasha on Green Island with them this weekend? Hell, yeah.
“But I had some potential field sites to check out,” Natasha protested.
Alya waved her off. “Don’t angelfish also live on the Great Barrier Reef? I’ll pay for your plane ticket, and my room at the resort has a king-sized bed.”
“I don’t know,” mumbled Natasha, but she was smiling a little now.
“Come on, Nat,” said Alya. “Don’t go on vacation by yourself right after a breakup. Besides, you know I’d feel a lot better if you were there with me.”
Max raised his eyebrows at Alya, and she frowned at him and shook her head. Was Alya trying to guilt her sister into coming based on her own problems with men? If so, the tactic was effective. Natasha’s brow crinkled up, and she sighed.
“I’ve never been to Green Island,” she said slowly. “It’s epaulette shark territory.”
Alya jumped out of her chair. “That’s a yes?”
“I guess so...” Natasha twisted her hair around a finger.
Alya tapped the schedule for the Tropical Bliss magazine shoot before her sister could protest further. “We’re doing an early morning shoot and an evening shoot both days, when the tourists aren’t flooding the island. So when the rest of us are working, you’ll get the reef to yourself for a few hours. Other than that, I’ll have time off. The whole trip should be fun.”
Alya typed something into her phone.
“I’m going to get you booked right now, on my way to Stewart’s, before you can change your mind,” she said then smiled up at Natasha. “He’ll be here in a minute. It’s your last chance to back out.”
Natasha looked from Alya to Max. She bit her lip. “Okay, I’m in.”
Alya’s phone dinged, and she grabbed it and waved. “You won’t be sorry, Natasha. And can you see Max out?”
THE FRONT DOOR slammed shut, leaving Natasha alone with Max. Damn, this evening was taking yet another crazy turn. Max, of course, exuded his usual easygoing charm, as if he regularly talked with women about failed blow job attempts and great sex. He probably did.
The man was so sexy, so tempting...and soooo not a good idea, though sometimes it was hard to remember why. Sure, he’d do dinner and sex without hints about picking up his dry cleaning. But everything she’d heard suggested that he specialized in one-and-done nights, and she really didn’t. Even if she made an exception to that rule, this was Max Jensen.
The Australian press loved nothing better than to speculate on the latest conquests of the reckless black sheep from an old-money ranching family, the country’s version of royalty. As the “ugly duckling” daughter of Illana Petrova, as one American newspaper had called her at the tender age of thirteen, Natasha knew better than to go near a walking scandal maker like Max. She’d had enough of those in her life, having a famous Russian supermodel turned actress for a mother. Natasha had plenty of hard-earned academic achievements to her name, but they weren’t the kind the media valued. The last thing she’d want was to put herself through another round of public comparisons, all superficial and all finding her lacking.
Max rested his forearms on the table, all tanned and corded with muscles, covered in dark blond hair. A bit of her resolve gave up and tiptoed out of the quiet kitchen.
She cleared her throat and looked up at Max. “You probably think I’m an idiot, not telling off Wayne.”
“Not even close.” Max shook his head.
“Then what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking this is my lucky day,” he said, his voice lower, a little husky.
Her eyes widened. “Not that kind of lucky.”
Max leaned back in his chair and gave a loud bark of laughter. He shook his head and took a deep breath. “I thought I was the one with the dirty mind,” he said. “I mean, our stars seem to be lining up tonight.”
“I’m sensing a pickup line coming on.” Natasha rolled her eyes, but heat crept up her neck. Max’s grin suggested he was enjoying every minute of this exchange, and his eyes sparked with mischief and heat. Another chunk of her resolve snuck out the door, leaving her alone with her neglected libido.
“Maybe I need to step up my game with you,” he continued, leaning forward, his arms resting on the table only inches from hers. “Maybe I should focus on your interest in animal mating. If that turns you on, we could watch some videos where the male comes up to the female from behind and bites her in the neck while—”
“Nope.” Natasha shoved his biceps to cut him off, trying to ignore his hard, thick muscles under her fingers. “Animal mating is not the thing that turns me on. I just study the reproductive behaviors of angelfish, so of course mating patterns are something I think about.”
Max stifled a laugh. “Sure.”
Natasha gave him a hard stare. “You’re belittling my career right now,” she said. “Would you say the same thing to a guy who studies fish mating?”
His smile broke through, and he winked at her. “Of course not. The discussion would be much raunchier.”
Natasha pressed her lips together. Did he really think she was turned on by this topic, or was he just messing with her? That was yet another problem: he was never serious. From that very first comment three years ago, when he’d given her a suggestive smile and spouted that cliché about getting over her latest dating disaster by getting under someone better, she couldn’t decide if he was coming on to her or teasing her. Or both. Truthfully, Max’s deep voice could make just about anything sound possible.
The very biggest problem with entertaining Max’s flirtation was that she hung