With his notorious reputation, one would think that Maximilian Croft, man-whore extraordinaire, wouldn't be surprised by anything when it came to women.

But he seemed surprised by my declaration.

Dumbstruck, even.

Unfortunately, even that look was attractive on him. Just as attractive as the I-got-into-a-brawl-for-a-woman-I-have-no-business-screwing look. His disheveled hair and scuffed up profile made him look even more deliciously masculine which was probably why he could still screw women he had no business screwing.

But that look didn't last long.

For someone who got knocked around for a good bit after drinking his weight in hard liquor, the gaze he focused on me was startlingly lucid and sharp. There was something perturbing about that nearly imperceptible change in him—one I'd seen a few times when he thought no one was paying attention. It made me think of artists whenever they would pull back from their all-consuming passion to critique their work.

Red flag. There's more to this man than what meets the eye.

There was reason to be concerned, yes, because Max's superficiality was exactly what I was depending on but for the life of me, I couldn't settle with a less complicated man.

If I'm going to live life, it might as well be on razor edge of it.

"Why?"

"Why what?" I asked back, raising my brows. "I need a boyfriend and you've met the requirements."

He didn't respond—clearly, he needed reassurances. "Don't worry. You can still go savage every now and then, let your inner beast out—whatever it is that keeps you secure in your alpha male status. I won't hamper you as long as you keep it out of my way. Should you need me as audience, just ask ahead of time."

It was now his turn to raise a brow at me as if he couldn't believe my audacity. I couldn't either. "And why exactly do you need a boyfriend?"

I shrugged. "Because I've decided that I haven't had one and it's time to cross it off my list. It seems to be a widely assumed essential on the list of female adulthood accomplishments. I don't require a lengthy relationship. Three months should suffice nicely."

Max stared at me and I wondered if he thought I was crazy. Or delusional.

Probably delusional.

Whatever his reputation was, Max's taste in women couldn't be faulted in terms of beauty. He definitely liked them attractive and he wasn't particular if said attractions were shoved in your face—or his, for that matter.

I didn't have much I could shove in people's faces. My attractions were minimal in both variety and size. And based on the way Max's gaze traveled down on me from head to toe, he was taking stock of my modest offerings to determine if I was a bad bargain.

I was on the petite, slender side which came with the usual conservative amount of curves. My hair was long and black and unstyled most of the time. The only features I'd consider striking on me were my light, coffee-colored eyes that looked quite exotic with their defined slant even framed with large, black glasses. But that was about it, really. I definitely wasn't the complete, most prettily-wrapped package out there but those might as well be unicorns. Even men with Max's hunting caliber couldn't catch one.

"And no, I have no interest in your money," I added because I had a feeling that Max was probably the closest thing to a male unicorn as there could be out there and his immense wealth was a big factor of that. "I have enough of my own and require nothing else from you."

He frowned, leaving me slightly puzzled. "Nothing."

I wasn't sure if he repeated it for me to confirm or because he needed to hear himself say it to verify its validity.

"I have a lot to offer a woman should I choose to but you want nothing from me?"

Ah. The highly common and frequently mocked male condition shows itself—pride.

I raised a brow. "Other than a three-month relationship and basic human decency, no, there's nothing else."

"Well, that's very obliging of you," He shook his head with a dry laugh. "But I don't suffer from selflessness so let's talk about what I require."

I smirked, relieved to have the usual Max back. I could handle him better when he was being entitled and obnoxious like this. "Fine. What do you require?"

A sly smile formed on his lips. "Sex. What's your stand on that? I personally like to be horizontal but I don't mind if you like to stay on your feet."

He then gave me a lopsided grin and I wanted to smack him on the side of his head for making me flush from my neck to my hairline. "Yes. Tonight clearly showcased how flexible you are on that stand in more ways than one."

His eyes sparkled with humor and he almost looked like he wanted to say more but all he said next was, "Well?"

Well, what?

This had been an impulsive move on my part and I hadn't really expounded on what a 'relationship' would mean when I asked him for one. Of course, to most of society, it would include sex. Naturally. It was all wired in us to desire further genetic further propagation. For a while, I thought I just had faulty wiring because I felt zero interest in the endeavor but watching Max the past several weeks made me feeling something. Something possibly worth exploring.

At the thought of such exploration, I couldn't help my own blatant appraisal of Max and the gears in my head hummed to life. He was a tall, large man and already overwhelmingly male without towering over me, which he would anyway given my mere five-foot-three frame. He was easily close to six-four or five, head and shoulders above most men. To imagine him caging me in those arms and moving on top of me—it made me feel like I had ten times the amount of nerve endings in my body, all of them electrified.

Something on my face must've given me away because I saw the shift in Max, his eyes brightening with heat, his nostrils flaring slightly as he sucked in a breath and squared his shoulders, reminding me of an animal scenting a mate nearby.

Good Lord, Aiko. How many National Geographic shows did you watch?

Many and according to those shows, the fact that he suddenly seemed uncomfortable in his own jeans meant that something was taking up space in them where it normally wouldn't. And considering his size, it must be taking up a lot of space.

"I can eye-fuck just as well as I can do the real thing," he said with a sardonic arch of his brow. "And I've got nowhere else to be right now so we can do this all night if that's all the sex you can manage."

I pushed my glasses up my nose and tipped my head so I could narrow my eyes through them. "I might manage more than you think but I'll restrain myself if all the mouthful I'm going to get from you is how good you are in bed. In publishing, you need to show and not tell."

His eyes widened with pleasant surprise and I had the most curious thought that Maximilian Croft was starting to enjoy surprises again.

"I could but I might get arrested," he quipped before glancing around his cell. "On second thought, I'm already in jail so maybe I should."

I raised a hand. "I'm flattered but you're going to have to hold it until there's a comfortable bed nearby."

"For a writer, you have limited imagination," he teased lazily. "So sex is on the table then?"

"I didn't consider taking it that far but now that you've mentioned it, we might as well, if you're agreeable to it," I answered a-matter-of-factly. "Disposing of my virginity at some point in my life seems to be part of that adulthood list too."

Max sharply drew in a breath and for a fleeting second, he looked extremely annoyed.

Guess virgins weren't as popular as they used to be.

"And where exactly is this list that you're talking about?"

"In my head," I replied casually. "I'm sure you've crossed off that item on your list so many times you've probably worn a hole through it."

A laugh rumbled out of him and he shook his head as if he hadn't wanted to be amused. "And is it only if I agree that you'll bail me out?"

I snorted. "Your papers are getting signed off as we speak. Blackmail is sordid business. I'd rather it be a mutual decision from the both of us. I need to cross this off my list and you need to ease off on the notoriety if you want your brother to have a fair shot at running for mayor next year."

Max's lips thinned at the reminder. "You don't know me."

My shoulder hitched up in a half shrug. "You can remedy that."

"Why me of all people?"

I smiled. "You're attractive, intelligent and experienced enough. You're also at a disadvantage."

He smirked. "This is nothing."

"Of course," I answered easily. "Nothing could mean much to someone who has no care about anything in his life. Which means you won't complicate things when it's time to part ways."

He actually winced—the man who probably parted ways with a woman as often as he parted a pair of female legs. "That hardly sounds romantic."

I laughed. "Which makes you perfect for it. I didn't come to the most infamous playboy in Cobalt Bay for a happily-ever-after. You're the last person who could offer it."

"I'm glad you're realistic about that," he shot back, frowning. "Are you also realistic about the fact that I could be a crude bastard? I could hurt you and I'm not just talking about your broken heart. Did you ever think about that?"

I scoffed because this noble version of Max seemed preposterous even though I'd seen fleeting glimpses of it before. "Considering your love life is as well thumbed-through as a free magazine that had passed hands in a doctor's office, stories of physical abuse would've surfaced by now if there had been any, not necessarily because of your popularity or that it's easy to report abuse but merely because of the size of your sample. It's more likely to come out if you'd slept with a hundred women than it is if you'd only slept with ten. Simple statistics."

Max rubbed his jaw as he watched me and I couldn't be sure if it was in exasperation or admiration. It was hard to read the light in his eyes but however he felt about it, one thing was sure—he was surprised, again.

It's just that kind of night for you, buddy, and it's not even over yet.

"Huh. Sex and statistics are often used in the same sentence in context of me but never quite this way," he grunted after a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "So you're absolutely sure that you won't suffer from any heartbreak when it's time for me to move on to someone else?"

"Uh, no," I said emphatically. "I can't suffer heartbreak if my heart's not involved. I highly doubt I'd keep company with you long enough to get attached."

His irritation flared back to life. "So I'm merely a means to an end? You just want to carry out what you already know is doomed to fail?"

I shrugged. "It depends on what you consider to be a failure. If I can cross off a couple items on my list and you can get the regular serving of sex you need to survive and stay sane, I'd call it a success."

He glared at me. "And what of my feelings?"

"Are you saying you've got some?" I said with brows raised in feigned shock. "I thought you only require some female companionship and wide berth. Considering how short your attention span is with women, I figured the only way I could have an extended enough time for a relationship with you is to give you space."

"I'm a person—not a sex vending machine or a rutting beast."

This rutting beast is too eloquent for his own good.

I tilted my head up thoughtfully, aware that I'd struck a nerve and now unable to let go until I traced it back to what most people considered his non-existent heart. "It's hard to remember that when most of your time is spent going to ridiculous lengths to stoop so low no one will ever believe you're capable of being anything more than a live dildo or a mad dog frothing at the mouth."

Anger now visibly streaked through Max and he launched himself on his feet, pacing. "Get out. I may be on the other side of the bars but you and the world know nothing about me."

"Prove us wrong then," I said softly, feeling the strangest urge to reach out, smooth his hair back and press a hand to his chest right above where his heart beat. "Start with me."

That didn't soften him. He stopped pacing and studied me with suspicion. "If this is a trick somehow to get me to marry you or something stupid like that—"

I burst out laughing. "God, no. I just wish we can at least be friends when all of this is said and done. If it'll give you some peace of mind, I'll sign a contract legally promising not to force you to sign on to another one—the marital kind."

My heart leapt when he didn't move or say anything—just pierced me with those stormy eyes for what felt like forever.

Maybe my idea wasn't so crazy, after all.

"Let me think about it," he blurted out, catching us both off guard based on his own stunned reaction. He shook his head and ran a hand through is messy blond hair. "I'm half-drunk, starving and in dire need of a shower. I don't like making decisions under duress."

"Tell me tomorrow then."

"One week."

"One day."

He angled me a challenging look. "I don't excel in monogamy. In fact, I'm superb at failing at it."

I just raised my brow. "Tell me something I don't already know. I've decided a month will do. If you really can't keep it inside your pants or exclusively between my legs for that length of time, do it discreetly and with protection. I will not risk catching anything."

He scowled, a deep crease forming between his brows. "You know you deserve more than this sham of a relationship, don't you?"

I just gave him a faint smile. "Let me worry about what I deserve."

Before anything else could be said, a cop approached us to announce and facilitate Max's release. It took a few minutes to wrap everything up but Max seemed mostly unconcerned. He probably had an entire law firm at his beck and call to make things like this go away. The only thing he was paying attention to was me, even as I snuck my small moleskin notebook out of my party clutch to jot down some ideas and observations about the whole jail release experience.

"I'm a writer," I explained. "I always have to be able to write things down in case an idea comes to me. Besides, what else will I put in this thing? I've only got a tiny wallet, keys and gum in here."

He might not be sold yet but he was curious. I'd never been an intriguing person before but then I didn't seem to be the same person around Max. Tonight was nothing like what the old Aiko Bradley would ever do.

"How the hell did you pay for me?" he asked, shrugging on his sports jacket as we exited the building.

"I went to a bank machine and took out the cash," I said.

He halted and turned his incredulous face to me. "You walked around alone in the middle of the fucking night with wads of cash? Are you insane?"

I bristled. "It was just down this block and I was fine! I'm on my own a lot. I can take care of myself."

"Not if you're traipsing about at night, spying on people's dirty business, propositioning drunk men and hanging out in police stations with pockets full of cash!"

I glared at him. "Well, that's rich considering you were at the center of every single one of those dangers you cited. You're both a hypocrite and a mothering hen."

He stiffened. "Mothering hen?"

"Yes, mothering hen! And don't forget hypocrite!" I retorted. "I don't see why you get to criticize what you consider my risky behavior when you live the kind of life you do."

Max looked like he was grinding his teeth together. "It's different."

I scoffed. "Different? Catch up with the century, Croft. Women have had equal rights for some time now."

"Clearly, society is declining," he shot back as we stopped by the front steps of the precinct and looked around the empty streets. He was baiting me so I bit back my searing response and just watched him as he paced a small circle down on the sidewalk.

He suddenly turned back to me. "Look, I'm in terrible shape right now. Thank you for saving my ass, however unnecessary it was, and I'll make sure you're compensated for every expense and inconvenience you've taken on tonight. However, it's probably best that you head home and forget about all of this."

"Save your customer service spiel. I'm not forgetting any of it," I protested, pushing my glasses up my nose and lifting my chin up stubbornly. "You agreed to a day to think over my proposal."

He groaned in frustration. "If your proposal was the slightest bit sane, I'd waste some mental energy on it but it's not so we should save ourselves the trouble and—"

"Please," I sneered. "If you're shooting me down, try to be honest at the very least. Don't patronize me by dancing around my feelings. I assure you, my heart is in no danger of being crushed if you really mean to say no."

His expression hardened. "Right. Because this is just a task you want to cross off your damned list. A simple, stone-cold arrangement."

I gave him a pointed look. "I never said stone-cold. I expect a degree of intimacy if we're to go all the way to sex as you'd suggested but this isn't a grand romance, Max. I want it temporary, uncomplicated and mutually satisfying. You're the author of such relationships. This should be a piece of cake."

His eyes flashed—there was that nerve again, still smarting a little.

"Maybe once I've fully regained all of my senses I'd see the merit of this idea but right now, I'm not giving you an answer."

"Fair enough."

"Did you drive here?" he asked as I came down on the sidewalk next to him.

I shook my head. "I took a cab. Is anyone picking you up? A driver, maybe?"

"No. I always operate on my own," he said. "That way no one's inconvenienced when I'm spending the night in jail."

I gave him a peering side glance. "Sounds like you expect to find yourself in jail on a regular basis."

His gaze was inscrutable before he flashed me a cocky grin. "I live in the fast lane, don't I? I'm bound to break a law or two."

A cab coasted along and Max efficiently flagged it down with a loud whistle.

"Come on. I'll drop you off on my way home," he said as he opened the door for me.

"I should probably drop you off first considering how you've mentally deteriorated from your night of drunken excess," I said as I strapped on my seat belt, neatly tucking my cardigan under it. "Give the driver your address."

"No, give him your address," he argued as he stretched out his legs in the backseat.

This close, I could smell him and it surprised me to find that he smelled cleaner than I thought. He was definitely not emitting alcoholic fumes as one might imagine. It gave me me a heady feeling but not enough to deter me. "I'm more sober than you are so you're going home first."

"As if there's any chance in hell that I'm leaving you in a cab alone in the middle of the night."

"I'm not a child, thank you very much."

"No, you're a lunatic which is probably why you want to know where I live so you can stalk me and kill me in my sleep," he muttered before he rested his head against the back of the seat, looking too relaxed for someone who suspected murder and mutilation from me.

"Well, that was creative," I muttered back. "Why don't you write a book about—"

"For the love of God, Aiko. Just—"

"Hey! Tell me where I'm going or I'm going to charge you double for going in circles around this block," the driver snapped, glaring at us in annoyance over his shoulder.

Max had closed his eyes so it was up to me. I leaned forward and murmured an address to the driver.

"Thank God," Max said under his breath, kneading his temples. "We're not even dating yet but we're already fighting like an old married couple."

"I wouldn't know," I said, smiling. "We're neither old nor married. Actually, let me amend that. You're old."

He opened one eye to glare at me. "Apparently not old enough to discourage you."

I shrugged. "What can I say? You're aging well physically. Emotionally—that's still to be determined."

I thought he was going to get mad but he had a small smirk on the corner of his mouth. "You'll make a nightmare of a girlfriend."

"You're going to be the least ideal boyfriend in history so we'll be pretty even," I said cheerfully. Both his eyes were open now and the intensity in them as he gazed at me, shadowed as he was in the backseat save for the moving shafts of streetlight, had an enigmatic pull that I found myself slowly leaning in, my knee bumping his.

Whatever his age or reputation was, Maximilian Croft was man in his ultimate peak—physically perfect from what I could see and fairly oozing with masculine confidence that was both slightly infuriating and immensely tempting at the same time.

But there was no kiss or Gossip-Girl backseat action. What came next was unexpected but better in my opinion.

His eyes fluttered close and his large hand suddenly enveloped mine, our fingers flexing to interlock with each other. We didn't say anything. Just sat back in comfortable silence and the warmth of the other person's hand seeping into our own.

When the cab pulled to stop, Max opened his eyes and sat up straight, peering through the window. "I can't imagine you live here."

I was already climbing out of the car after handing the driver a few bills and Max scrambled to follow. "Hey. Why did we stop here?"

"I thought you could use some food first," I said as we stood by the sidewalk outside a brightly lit Chinese restaurant. "It's one of the few places in the city that's still open and serves more than just alcohol."

It was three in the morning and while I could definitely use some dim sum at this moment, I wasn't sure Max would appreciate my initiative. But he'd have to start getting used to it because there was going to be a lot of that in our relationship—if he agreed, that is.

"Probably open for those who need greasy, hang-over antidotes," he muttered as he started for the restaurant. "And I'm one of them."

It wasn't busy inside and we were quickly ushered into a cozy booth against the window.

While Max was leisurely scanning the menu, I rattled off half a dozen things to the waitress.

When I extended my hand to take the menu from him, he handed it over with a meaningful look. "I take it that this isn't a democracy."

"You'll like what I got us," I assured him as the waitress left. "I ordered all their specialities that the kitchen's still making at this hour."

Then I looked him over in concern. "Do you have any major food allergies?"

He smirked. "A little late for you to be asking me that now but no, I don't. I'd like something to drink though."

"Oh, I had her grab us some green tea," I said with a smile.

He stared at me like I started growing extra eyes. "Green tea?"

"Yeah. It will help make you feel better."

He rolled his eyes. "If a bulldozer was ever a girl, it'd be you."

The waitress promptly returned with a small, stone tea pot and two small matching cups with no handles. I poured each of us a cup and Max swirled his warily before taking a sip. It was an amusing sight to see such a good-looking, roughed-up man drinking daintily out of a little stone cup but he wouldn't appreciate me pointing that out.

Instead, I reached for one of the folded napkins and tipped some of my water on it to get it damp. "Scoot over."

He looked confused but before he could ask, I stood up and slid into the booth next to him, forcing him to move to give me space. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Cleaning you up," I said as I reached out to dab the napkin on his face. He leaned away from me though, looking at me like I'd somewhat morphed. I exhaled sharply in exasperation. "You're going to have to give it a proper wash and dressing later but right now, I can at least clean the dirt off the perimeter of your scratches so that you don't get infected. Unless you have more alcohol than blood in your veins that you just automatically disinfect yourself."

"I'm not that drunk," he grumbled even though he did lean forward this time so I could reach his face more easily. In slow, gentle rubs, I cleaned around the cut on his cheek and the scrape on his jaw.

"I didn't think you were," I said, getting just a little bit lost seeing Max this up close and proving his appeal more potent than ever. "I was surprised you let that guy get one or two in there with you. It seemed like you could've run circles around him if you'd wanted to. You were quick on your feet, barely staggering and your swings were economical but precise."

"Who knew a woman didn't have to say sexually inviting words to sound so damn sexy," Max muttered and as soon as his words registered, my eyes snapped back to him. Only he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at my mouth and the soft heat in his half-hooded eyes made me warm all over.

Then I narrowed my gaze at him, swatting him on the arm with the napkin. "The rest of mankind who's not a misogynistic pig like you, that's who."

His quick grin was guiltless. "Hey. You're the one who propositioned me."

"And you're doing everything you can to showcase yourself in the poorest light possible," I shot back, unconcerned. "Don't be too transparent, Max."

He arched a brow at that. "Am I actually transparent or are you just seeing what you want to see?"

I smiled. "Time will tell, Max. Time will tell."

Max didn't say anything until I finally pulled back and crumpled the damp napkin into a ball. "That looks better. Still looks a little rough but at least you don't have to explain it to anybody at work on Monday."

He snorted. "Speaking of jobs, don't you have one to get up for tomorrow? Or Monday? It's three in the morning. You don't want to show up half-dead to the office."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm lucky enough to be the boss of my own time—usually. I'm currently between projects so I have some time to relax."

"You're a writer, I remember," he said as he watched me rise from his side of the booth and move back to my original seat. "What's not relaxing about typing away on a computer whenever the mood strikes you?"

Max definitely got playing obtuse down to a science but I willed myself to play along. "Writing isn't a slacker's job that everyone thinks it to be. It takes a lot of mental and emotional energy to create a world, a cast of characters, put words on a page and make it sound good, make the deadline and fight your way through revisions and editing. When I'm in the middle of a book, I only go out when I absolutely have to."

"What kind of books do you write?"

"Mystery, adventure," I said. "I started out with young adult books. I started writing and publishing at sixteen. I wrote what I knew then. My characters aged with me as I wrote out the series. It's a delicate balance to have my readers grow with me but also still offer them the same kind of thing they liked about my work to begin with."

"And how old are you exactly?"

"Twenty-three. Twenty-four in a few months," I replied just as the waitress arrived with most of our order on a large tray. Suddenly starving, I picked up a deep-fried wonton and popped it into my mouth, sucking the grease off my fingers. I glanced at his arrested expression and figured he probably found me too young. "It's only a little over a decade. And I approached you so you can't be accused of being a cradle robber. I, on the other hand, can be called a grave robber because with your fast life, you've already got a foot in that dirt hole."

Max made a face. "Thanks for doing the opposite of your intention and making that age gap sound worse than it really is."

I grinned. "You make it so easy to aggravate you. But really, it's fine. I'm old for my age so I need someone intellectually mature at the very least. Besides, a man of broader experience such as yourself is most likely a better teacher. I don't expect you to teach me about relationships considering your lack of experience in them beyond the mere one-night stand but I assume there's much you can show me in the intimacy department. If I'm going to have to sex, I'd like to become good at it."

Max stared hard at me, almost like he was waiting for a punchline or a gotcha moment. I had to disappoint him.

"Why would you like to be good at sex?" he asked and his expression warred between suspicion and annoyance.

My brows furrowed in confusion. "Because I like to be good at things I do. Doesn't everyone? You clearly do, especially in sex. Why, you've practiced on half the female population in North America."

"Practice? Why would I wear myself out with so much practice when I'm already a genius at it?" he scoffed. "Did you ever think that maybe I was just doing good deed and pleasing as many women as I could in this lifetime?"

I actually grinned at that.

"Ah, trust you to see it as your civic duty," I said with a little snort. "Of course, you'd see nothing wrong with going from one woman to another. The devil can hardly wonder whether he's doing evil things when he knows of nothing else."

Max laughed and shook his head before slurping down a big spoonful of noodle soup. "Good point. Makes me wonder how angels know what's bad when they've never done it. They have no idea just how good it can be."

I could feel my cheeks grow warm but I didn't look away.

"So, tell me," he said with a teasing smile, sitting back and watching me. "Am I going to be source material for any of your future books? Is that why you want me to play your boyfriend for a month?"

"Modest of you to think you're interesting enough to inspire a character but no, I'm not using you for a book I'm writing," I reassured him. "At least not specifically. If I ever need some reference for the exasperating-unrepentant-arrogant-skirt-chaser type, I might pull out your file."

He exaggerated a show of shock and disappointment, pressing a hand to his heart. "You're not making me a lead character? Don't you think I'd make a good romantic hero? The guy who doesn't believe in love and all that sappy crap only to meet the woman of his dreams who will tame him and turn him into the perfect prince charming who will whisk her away on his white horse so they can live in his castle happily ever after?"

I couldn't help but smirk before reaching out to pat his arm gently. "It's alright, Max. You can come clean and admit you secretly hoard romance books because you can't get enough of them. This is a safe environment. I won't judge you."

He just gave me a droll look. "It's alright, Aiko. You can come clean and admit you secretly covet my collection. Don't worry, I might be persuaded to share—with the right incentive, of course."

I laughed and lightly shoved at his arm. "You don't have an off switch, do you?"

Max's eyes were bright with humor, the hard edges of his mouth softening. "I'm having trouble locating it right now but I don't think you mind."

I realized my fingertips were still touching his arm and we both gazed down at the contact. Neither of us made the move to break it.

"No. I don't mind it at all," I said softly just as Max's own hand rested over mine.

We both locked gazes and there was the most fleeting moment of certainty about something inexplicable.

And I was the least superstitious person I knew.

But the contact broke when the waitress came to check in on us.

Seemingly thrown off by that odd shift in the air, we ate the rest of our meal in silence—not the awkward or ominous kind. More like we knew we couldn't articulate exactly what was going on so we weren't even going to try.

When the bill came, Max snatched it before I could and handed his card to the waitress.

"No, you're not arguing with me," he said after he finished paying. "Just as you're not going to argue that I'm going to see you home first. You're way past your bedtime."

"I don't have a bedtime," I grumbled as I followed him out to the street where he hailed a cab. "I try to stick to a regular schedule but there are times when I'm writing something too important that I can't just drop it."

"Maybe you just need different priorities to tempt you away from your story," he said as he held the door open for me. "The pleasurable kind, if you know what I mean."

I grinned at him as he slid in next to me. "I know what you mean in theory but I wouldn't mind a practical demonstration—the kind that lasts a month. What do you say?"

Max groaned. "Stop it. You said I have a day to think about it."

I decided to take pity on him and press no further. The man had had a long night.

This time around, I let him drop me off first at Paige's apartment. I was halfway out when I stopped and turned around. I heard Max suck in a breath as I leaned close but he held his body still especially when my hands grasped at his sides so I could push myself up until we were face to face . A shaft of light coming in from the rear window played on his face and I could see his eyes on my lips. I smiled.

"Goodnight, Max," I said before pressing a kiss on his unbruised cheek and drawing back to slip out of the cab.

I was all kinds of trouble tonight but as I let myself into the building with one last glance over my shoulder at Max who still waited inside the cab, I decided that this was the most fun I've had in a long time and I couldn't wait for more.

***

So, what do you guys think?

Okay, I wanted to put this comment in the beginning but I don't write a pre-post note anymore so I'm going to tackle it here.

I know there's going to be an explosion of comments about the age gap. 'Why do you always write huge age gaps, Ninya?' etc. So hear me out.

For one, I really don't mind age gaps. My parents have 14 years between them, my husband and I have almost 9 years between us. It doesn't bother me and to be honest, I never dated someone my age. I'm like Aiko—way older than my age and needed someone to match my maturity level. Besides all of that personal preference aside, the age of the Cobalt Bay Billionaires are where they are because of the timeline of Sebastian's story. He was in his early-thirties when he and Cassandra concluded their story and Max's story happens after that so I don't have much of a choice but to make him this age. Also, I needed him to have a lot of years building his experience and reputation for work and life. It's less realistic for him to have accomplished what I needed him to accomplish if he's 24. You'll see more of that in the story later.

As for Aiko being as young as she is, she kinda had to be in this age range to make her relatable to my readers. I have plenty of young readers and I don't know that it would work if I write a thirty-something woman who might have already been through some pretty major milestones in their lives. As for her innocence—well, she kinda has to be for this plot to work. Otherwise, she can't ask Max for what she's asking if she's pretty experienced. And it's less realistic for her to be inexperienced if she's much older.

People at this point have noticed a pattern about my heroines being inexperienced. Yes, you're right. Most of them tend to be. Again, I need them to be young to be in the same age category as my readers. I try not to stretch this range too much. Also, they're often idealistic about relationships (to offer contrast to the male lead who is often a playboy-ish alpha male type because that tends to be our favorite kind of male lead for guilty-pleasure reads, don't deny it) and it's hard to be that when you have a very relaxed attitude towards sex. I'm by no means judging those who do. And that's not to say that those who are relaxed don't have ideals. But a lot of experience can teach someone some pretty hardened lessons and that can make the characterization I need tricky so the simpler the better. And while my heroines tend to be inexperienced, they're usually never completely naïve or innocent. That's where I can compromise at least.

But in the end, if the age gap really bothers you, feel free to imagine them a different age. It doesn't matter to me. I try to give the relationship a lot of substance that the age different won't matter as much but you're welcome to whatever makes you comfortable. Same with the character's innocence. This is fiction after all. Your imagination is at work as much as mine is.

I know that was a long explanation but I needed to put it out there so we can just address it and set it aside and enjoy the rest of the story.

Hope you liked it!

XOXO,

Ninya

♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: We Could Be Amazing by Andy Grammer ♪♪♪

Dust off your heart and take it for a spin
I know it's been a while since love has been
Why don't you come outside
My arms are open wide
And I'll be here until you realize
Realize

Cause I'll be standing on your doorstep
Lie hotter than the sunset
Just take your sweet time babe
I'll let you sleep

Cause the love that I'm holdin'
Will still be here in the morning
I'm just sittin' here hoping
You'll come down to me

We could be amazing [x2]